


Changes

by thisgirlsays22



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fem!Jaskier, Genderswap, Humor, Jaskier has a crush on himself bless, Mild Sexual Content, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Romance, oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22226461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisgirlsays22/pseuds/thisgirlsays22
Summary: He announces to his audiences, with great excitement, that he is, in fact, the famous bard Jaskier and has been temporarily afflicted by a curse that has turned him into the gorgeous woman they see before them today.At the end of his performances, he’s found it quite lucrative to say, “Every coin you can spare helps me continue my search for a cure.”Russian TranslationHere
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 277
Kudos: 4381
Collections: Just.... So cute..., The Witcher, wiedźmin





	Changes

Jaskier is only trying to help, which could possibly be the title of the biography that will surely be written about him one day. _Only Trying to Help,_ the epic tale of a bard and all manner of trouble he gets into alongside his witcher friend. 

They are rifling through the house of a mage that Geralt is tracking down. Geralt sniffs and squints around for clues, and really if you think about it, the whole situation is his fault because in between all that sniffing and squinting he says, “Make yourself useful, Jaskier. Search the bedroom.” 

So he does as he’s told, and what happens next could have happened to anyone--Geralt included. When Jaskier reaches for a suspicious-looking piece of paper poking out of a book on the upper shelf, he knocks over a small bottle on one of the lower shelves, and when the glass shatters against the ground, some of the liquid inside splashes onto Jaskier. 

He freezes, waiting for pain or, perhaps, even pleasure, but there’s nothing. He reaches a hand back out for the note, but it’s not...his hand is not his hand. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls, panic growing in his voice as he looks down at this body and, oh sweet Gods, _hears_ his voice, “something has gone very very very _very_ wrong.” 

His voice is not his, that is not his voice, he thinks frantically. 

Geralt rushes up the stairs and when he catches sight of Jaskier his eyes go wide in a way that they normally do not, which only confirms Jaskier’s fears that indeed something has gone very very very _very wrong_. “Fuck.”

“I need a mirror. Do I need a mirror? Do I even want to see?” the voice that is not his own asks, panic-stricken. 

“There’s one on the other side of the room.” Geralt has the audacity to laugh, so at least it’s not like Jaskier is _dying_ , but now does not feel like the appropriate time for Geralt to be a complete and utter shithead. 

Jaskier’s clothes feel too loose now, and he has to hold his trousers up with one hand as he makes his way over to the alchemist’s changing area. 

In the mirror staring back at him is a beautiful dark-haired woman. He recognizes his eyes, gone wide now with shock. 

Geralt comes to stand behind him.

“One of your tits is hanging out,” Geralt points out.

“Yes, thank you, Geralt. I can see that.” Jaskier can’t look away from the reflection where indeed one of his tits has fallen out of the v-neck of his now-loose white tunic. “Nice tit, though.” 

“Hm.” Geralt nods back at him in the mirror. 

After three weeks, they’ve not had much luck finding anyone who knows of a cure. They haven’t managed to track the mage who was responsible for the potion, and the two alchemists they’ve spoken to were utterly flummoxed. 

“I know of a group of druids we can speak to,” Geralt says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I have another alchemist contact in Temeria. We will find a cure for you, Jaskier.” 

It’s been taking some adjustment to get used to the changes in the way his body is built, the way it moves, how there is somehow considerably _less_ strength. It’s even harder to get used to the staring and leers and horrible come-ons. He feels a bit like a double-agent, now working for the other side and is deeply embarrassed by the lack of finesse from his old team. 

If he stands a little closer to Geralt when they stop at a tavern, that’s only because it offers a welcome reprieve from the attention his beauty attracts when men think that he’s the girlfriend of a terrifying witcher. 

Jaskier learns that while he definitely does know how to please a woman--as all of his past lovers will attest--there is still so much to learn. He’s lying on his stomach, hand between the bedroll and his body as he rubs slow circles around his clit. 

“Would you stop _doing_ that,” Geralt snaps one night from his bedroll on the other side of the fire.

Jaskier freezes. He’d thought that without the revealing and obvious sound of his hand against his cock he’d be able to get away with this. 

“Doing what?” Jaskier asks as innocently and evenly as he can, hand still between his thighs. 

“I can smell and hear you,” Geralt adds through gritted teeth. 

“The thing is, Geralt. Is that I’m really _really_ close.” 

He doesn’t add that not only is he too aroused to feel the weight of mortification that he should surely feel, he’s only more turned on knowing that Geralt is aware of what’s happening. He imagines Geralt getting up, sliding under the blanket with Jaskier and then sliding _into_ Jaskier’s ready, willing, wet--seriously, dripping wet--cunt. 

His whole body goes tense, thighs trembling, and he can’t help the muffled moan he lets out into the blanket as he comes. 

“Fuck you, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and Jaskier is sure he’s wrong, but it sounds a little strangled. 

Geralt has been more irritable than usual about Jaskier coming on hunts with him.

“I’m not sure how my being a woman changes anything. I wasn’t exactly critical to the monster-killing side of the operation.” 

“No shit.” 

“So that settles it. I’m coming with you.” 

Though he’s gotten funny about letting Jaskier go on hunts, he’s gotten even funnier about traveling with Jaskier. It makes some sense that they wouldn’t part ways until a cure was found, but Geralt could have ridden ahead on his own and told Jaskier to stay put in a city like Novigrad. 

But he doesn’t, and as they make their way towards Temeria to speak to Geralt’s contact there, he finds he likes living alongside Geralt as though this is their everyday life. Geralt takes contracts and Jaskier still performs for coin and, of course, accolades. 

He even announces to his audiences, with great excitement, that he is, in fact, the famous bard Jaskier and has been temporarily afflicted by a curse that has turned him into the gorgeous woman they see before them today. 

At the end of his performances, he’s found it quite lucrative to say, “Every coin you can spare helps me continue my search for a cure.” 

The thing that’s funniest and strangest of all about Geralt’s behavior during this whole ordeal is that while Geralt doesn’t want Jaskier on hunts, he seems to want him alone in the evenings even less. Geralt sits in all manner of corners and glowers and broods more than he’d done in the past while Jaskier performs--his voice as gorgeous as ever as he adjusts to his new range and the highest of notes he can now reach--and if there’s even a hint of nastiness from the crowd, Geralt puts a stop to it with one of his infamously scary looks. 

Jaskier rather likes it. 

“Husbands are so much less violent when they catch me sleeping with their wives now,” Jaskier muses. “All I have to do is wink at them and they’re practically thanking me for doing it!”

“We need to find a cure,” Geralt mutters. 

It’s now been nearly three months since Jaskier’s transformation, and the contact in Temaria was unable to help them. They’re now making their way to the druids, and at this point, Jaskier is starting to come to terms with the fact that he might have to adjust to life as a goddess. There are worse things that could have happened to him, honestly. 

There is one thing, though, that he hasn’t done for a variety of reasons that he would very much like to try, and he thinks maybe _just maybe_ Geralt will be willing to help. They’ve barely been apart from one another in these past months, and Jaskier is sure that his request will at worst be met with an irritated silence.

He drinks just enough ale one evening before they head up to their room and cap off the night with a round of cards that he finally works up the courage to both literally and figuratively lay his cards down. 

“Geralt,” I have a proposition. “Now, you can say no if you--” 

“No.” 

“At least let me finish!”

Geralt fixes him with a wry look but waves a hand as if to cede the floor to Jaskier. 

“I would like you to fuck me. Now, before you say no _again_ , let me explain where I’m coming from. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and my reasoning, I’m sure you’ll find, is quite sound. Over the years, you and I have built up a certain level of trust, so I feel confident telling you that a little tumble in the sheets couldn’t possibly harm that. Not for two friends as close as us.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes, right on cue. 

“As a witcher, I know you’re sterile so there’s no risk of, uh, child.” Jaskier really does not want to experience that part of womanhood. The monthly bleeding is already terrible enough and after complaining and complaining Geralt finally bought him potions that helped ease the pain, and then he kept providing them without being asked.

“You want me to fuck you because it won’t hurt our friendship and because you won’t get pregnant,” Geralt says slowly. 

“Well, I also think you’d make it very enjoyable.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“You can say no, but I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Jaskier says, an accusatory note in his voice, just daring Geralt to deny it. 

Deny it he does. “It’s just jarring seeing you like this.”

“That’s nonsense, and you know it. It’s been months. You’ve had plenty of time to get used to me like this.” Jaskier gestures down at his perfectly shaped, lovely body that he would ravish in a heartbeat if presented with the opportunity. Really, Geralt should be getting down on his knees and thanking him. 

Geralt glares at him across the table. 

Jaskier knows Geralt will never hurt him, so he does what he’d want a sexy seductress to do to him if the roles were reversed, and he goes to Geralt and straddles him in his seat.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice is a low rumble, and Jaskier can see how his amber eyes are going dark. “This is a bad--”

Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck and kisses him, and after a moment Geralt puts his hands on Jaskier’s waist and kisses him back. He can feel the hard outline of Geralt’s cock pressing against his clit and he grounds himself down, chasing that sweet friction. 

He’s losing himself in the kiss, the building ache in his cunt, his breasts pressed against Geralt’s strong chest when Geralt stands, Jaskier’s legs wrapping around him, and walks them to the bed.

The next morning Jaskier rolls over and opens his eyes to find Geralt looking at him strangely. 

“What?” Jaskier says in a voice that is his but not his. He looks down at himself. His beautiful tits are gone, his hairy chest has returned. He feels sweet relief and joy and a touch of regret which grows into an entire fistful of regret when he catches Geralt’s eyes and realizes that last night would be a memory not to be repeated. His stomach drops. 

Geralt’s brow furrows. “Don’t have to go find the druids then.” 

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” Jaskier says testily. 

“I’m not,” Geralt says. “Are you?” 

“I don’t know.” Jaskier sighs and says wistfully, “I was so beautiful.” 

“You did make a beautiful woman,” Geralt agrees. He hesitates then says, “Don’t really mind what I’m seeing now either, though.” 

There’s a moment where Jaskier thinks he must have misheard or misunderstood, but as he meets Geralt’s eyes and Geralt doesn’t look away, Jaskier’s heart begins to hammer. A smile spreads across his face. 

“Leave the sweet-talking to me from now on, Geralt,” he says, not meaning this at all. 

He tugs Geralt to him and Jaskier celebrates the welcome return of his cock. 

As they ride on from the town, Jaskier begins to work on a song about his time as a woman, which he will always remember fondly. 

_“_ How does this sound? _Oh how I’d fix this, I couldn’t be sure / Only to find true love’s cock was the cure_.” 

“True love’s cock.” Geralt snorts. “That’s a new one.” 

Jaskier waits for the moment Geralt will tell him it’s not true love. 

The moment never comes.

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed Geralt to cure a curse with both his dick and true love SO HERE WE ARE.
> 
> Thanks to my husband for betaing and saying: "This raises the question if one of my mates was turned into a sexy lady, would I fuck them? What an interesting ethical quandary." 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are so appreciated <3
> 
> [Tumblr link if you'd like to share! ](https://geralt-jaskier.tumblr.com/post/190216674271/changes-thisgirlsays22-wied%C5%BAmin-the-witcher)
> 
> Edit: now with [beautiful fanart from ningyo_gaaru that I am still screaming over.](https://www.instagram.com/p/B7tT30bhGA6/) (nsfw warning bc it's featuring Jaskier's very nice tit.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Changes - thisgirlsays22](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24487903) by [LenaReads (LenaLawlipop)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaLawlipop/pseuds/LenaReads)




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